“Funny, I always thought it would be better if my dad dated after my mother left him. Now I’m thinking I was wrong.”
“We had all, you had nothing. There’s got to be something in the middle. Divorce happens. That doesn’t mean the end of your life.”
Katie nudged her again. “Not that you’ll ever have to worry about that.”
“Said the pot to the kettle.” Jessie sighed. “God I love your brother.”
Katie giggled. “Married life is the best. Now if we can just help Monica find the right guy.”
Jessie rubbed a hand on her still flat belly and smiled. “Yeah.”
The beer in Trent’s fist had become a constant companion. At least when his mind traveled to the island… to her.
Which was daily.
The door to Glen’s home slammed, telling Trent his brother was home.
“Jesus Christ, Trent.” Glen’s profanity barely made Trent lift his eyes to his brother. “What the f**k are you doing in the dark?”
“It’s not dark.” Well, actually, the curtains were drawn and there wasn’t a light on in the masculine den. The only company came from the radio that knocked out heavy rock. But there was still a glow from the outside to drive away the dark.
Glen crossed to the stereo, jabbed a finger down on the knob, and turned off the sound.
Ginger, who had been curled up by the couch, snapped her head up and barked.
His brother tossed his jacket over a chair and glared at him. “Enough! I’m not going to watch you do this to yourself.”
“Do what?” Trent dropped his feet from the table and reached to set his empty beer aside.
“Do nothing. Drink all the f**king time. Sit in the dark. Is this what you did in Jamaica?”
No. Well, in the beginning there had been a lot of drinking. Eventually he found his rhythm again. Maybe that’s why he escaped to the island, to mourn in peace. His brothers wouldn’t have allowed him to find the bottom of a bottle for long.
“I could have died in Jamaica.”
“But you didn’t!” Glen yelled. “Do you think that little blonde number is soaking up her liver like you are? She sure as shit had it worse than you.”
That may have been, but Monica had someone to share the night with.
“Fuck you.”
“No, f**k you.” Glen turned around and slammed his fist against the light switch. “And turn on a f**king light.”
Glen stormed out of the room. Trent had half a mind to follow his brother and lay a fist into him. His other urge was to grab another beer. He squelched both desires and found his way to the room he called his since he returned. In his bathroom, he turned on a light and looked in the mirror.
“Oh, damn.” When was the last time he shaved? His eyes were bloodshot, and a quick sniff told him he needed a shower.
He turned on the tap, watched the water as it ran down the sink. He wondered if Monica was as happy about healthy tap water as he was.
How was she doing? Was she back in California or still in Florida? Maybe she stayed with her sister in Texas for a while? Or maybe she moved in with her fiancé?
Trent grabbed his razor and removed several days of stubble. When he turned off the water he could hear his brother through the wall talking on the phone.
“I’m about to pull the family intervention shit, Jase. It’s f**king crazy.”
So Jason and Glen were talking about him.
“If I didn’t care, I’d kick his ass… hell maybe I will kick his ass. Something needs to wake him up.”
Trent moved out of earshot and leaned against the wall. Since when did he become the family bum? The first week home, he told himself he deserved a little R and R. Some downtime from life. He’d shared several beers with his brothers. They talked of old times, about their parents. For the first time since their death, Trent felt he could remember the good times and not choke on regret and blame. He didn’t tell his brothers about Monica outside the obvious. They didn’t bat an eye when he left Florida. Both told him to take all the time he needed to acclimate.
So he took the time.
Winter was losing its grip on the east and the spring sun was starting to stay up later. Trent moved to the window and realized the glare of sun was still out there.
Ginger sat on her haunches looking at him with that dopey dog expression. The one that said, Well… are we going out or what?
Trent ran a hand through his hair, hair that needed a good cut, and pulled on his shoes.
He grabbed Ginger’s leash, which resulted in a rapid series of barks.
Trent stepped out of his brother’s home and let the late afternoon chill wake him. The lingering scent of cold rain felt heavy in the air. Ginger pulled and tugged, excited to be out and peeing on every bush.
He walked the block, then the next. A few kids were playing outside their homes and somewhere the sound of a lawn mower hummed. It was the time for cut grass and flowers.
The thought of flying over fields of wildflowers reminded him of how much he’d been missing since he attempted to remove the memory of Monica with beer.
By the time he made it back to his brother’s, the sun had set in the far west. His thought lingered on whether Monica was watching it over the ocean tonight.
The smell of a grill made his insides churn. When he let Ginger loose in the backyard, he smelled the sizzling scent of steaks on the barbecue.
Glen turned a couple of steaks and closed the lid before focusing his attention on him. Without words, Trent grabbed a Coke from the outside fridge and tossed his brother a beer. Glen’s eyes opened wider.
“I can’t work in the office,” Trent said, placing his ass in a lounge chair. “You know how much I hate that shit.”
Glen leaned against the side of the house and opened his beer. “It’s been a while since you’ve been around. A lot of our pilots don’t even know you.”
“Yeah? So?”
“We have a couple of locations where more hours have been logged into flight time than were expected. We could use some investigating.”
“Find out if someone’s using the birds for their personal use?”
Glen smiled. “It’s not in the office.”
Yeah, and it wouldn’t be boring and leave him with hours to think.
“Where are the problems?”
“Biggest one is in Seattle.”
Seattle. Cold, wet… and miles from anyone. “You’ll watch my dog?”
The walking cast might have aided in walking, but in driving… not so much.